The Accuser and the Imp
by mybluesubmarine
Summary: Set roughly four years after the events of The Crucible, Abigail Williams is now living in Boston and one morning she happens across one of the strangest girls she has ever met. Tiny bit AU. Oneshot. R&R


****A Brief "Author's" Note**:**** Obviously as ****The Scarlet Letter takes place in the mid-17th century and The Crucible in the late-17th century, a detail or two may have been ****skewed for the purposes of entertainment, but that's life. This was written for a project in my English class and I think it turned out alright, but I'll leave that up to you. It's quite short, just a basic oneshot. I hope you like it. **

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the character of Pearl Prynne, belonging to the author Nathaniel Hawthorne. Abigail Williams _was_ a real person, but still for the purpose of not being sued, I do not hold claim to her nor do I claim to own the fictionalized version of portrayed in 'The Crucible' by Arthur Miller.

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><p>For once Abby was glad that the winter morn was darker than most as she carefully tip-toed across the creaky floor boards of some bearded stranger she'd met the night before. She <em>hated <em>it when floor boards squeaked. Come to think of it, she didn't like beards much either, at least not the thick, tangled variety, dripping with booze and bits of food. '_The things I do for the odd pound now and again_.' She thought, shaking her head.

As she was slipping her shoe back on, she casually glanced out the window. Though the glass panes were covered in smudges, scratches, and dirt, she could see that the sun was just _barely_ peeking through the clouds; it wouldn't be long. She had to get out—and fast. Who knew when the brainless brute would wake? Well, in any case, she wasn't about to take her chances. She picked her cloak up off the floor, draped it over her shoulder, unlatched the bolts on the door of his room, and quietly slipped out into the hall. It was dark, but there was light enough for her to find her way to the stairwell. For some reason it reminded her of her home, well her _old_ home, in Salem.

Some time ago, Abby had lived in Salem, Massachusetts, right when the trials began. In fact, she had been a significant part of the trials. She'd practically instigated them. However, stressful circumstances had persuaded her to leave in the middle of the night. She took a 'friend', Mercy Lewis, and thirty-one pound from her uncle's strongbox, and then snuck off to a harbor where she was supposed to board a ship to England. She had made it just in time to watch the boat leave. By the time she had turned around, Mercy had disappeared into the crowd and for about the hundredth time in her life she felt utterly alone. Still, time had passed. She was about twenty now, tall, and willowy, or bony, whichever made more sense. She'd moved to Boston and she liked it there, and every so often someone would complement her, tell her that she had pleasing facial features. Sometimes that was enough to make her happy. On other days…

For the most part, life was quite simple and fun. She ate what she liked, did what she liked within reason, though she had broken her fair share of boundaries over the years.

Abby's lips pulled into a small smile. '_They could fill a book of the Bible with all that I've done wrong: "Leviticus 2, the chronicle of Abigail Williams, harlot of New England". They could sing songs about me in church, how I led a man to betray his wife, that I danced in the woods and signed my soul to the devil and swore to serve him for all eternity. That's probably what they're thinking _now_. I suppose it would make an interesting sermon, perhaps one my _dear_ uncle has already preached, that miserable fool. They were all fools_. _They listened to me for a time, but I doubt that at this moment there isn't a single person who would dare to lend me their ear for even a minute. I had respect. I had power. Now I can barely afford to buy bread_.' Every time she thought about it, her stomach would begin to tighten and churn. Abby shook her head. What use was there in dwelling on the past? Well, there wasn't any use in it, but it did help pass the time.

Time was something that she seemed to have an abundance of. If she wasn't attempting to cook or at work, there wasn't much to do. And work was a very loose term. During the day she would assist a local seamstress, an elderly lady of seventy who was going blind. The job didn't pay well, but every so often when the hag wasn't looking, she would make off with some of the prettier merchandise. Nighttime was a different story. After dark, Abby would scour the taverns and every so often she might go home with a man, and she _might_ take a few pounds from his pocket. There we no set rules. It wasn't an excellent way to get by, but it was the only way she knew how these days. What else was she supposed to do? Convert, cross the seas, and join a convent? The day she became a Catholic was the day a witch was declared a saint.

At last, she reached the end of the stairwell and after grabbing some proper lighting, she slipped out of the 'gentleman's house and onto the streets. '_Now…where am I again? Don't tell me I got lost. I must have been just a tad drunker than I realized_.' Sadly this wasn't uncommon for her. Perhaps it was just another part of her marvelous luck or some kind of wrath, however minor, from God. Either way it was incredibly annoying.

Abby didn't call any specific place her home. She hopped from inn to inn depending on what she could afford at the time. She _tried_ to avoid those that were rumored to be a front for a house of ill repute, but that wasn't always the case. Lately, she'd been taken up residence in one of those houses, a couple blocks away from where the seamstress lived and worked. The 'lady of the house' had actually offered her a permanent position there, but Abby had turned her down. She was _not_ going to be remembered as a common street whore. She hadn't reached that point of desperation.

"Why you insolent little child—come back here!" Abby whirled around. A dark-haired girl came running from around the corner, not much younger than her. In her hand was a bottle of wine, gripped tight as if her life depended on it. She giggled fiendishly and she darted past Abby and into a nearby alley. About that time, a young man, about thirty or thirty-five, also came around the corner. She recognized him to be the young Reverend Thomas Scott, a newly appointed minister who liked to go down to the jails and preach to the prisoners. The occasional black eye he'd sport told her that it didn't always work out. Scott looked from to the right and then to the left before directly approaching Abby.

"Have you seen a young lady go by? She's got hair black as night, wild eyes, maybe about your height." He asked.

Abby looked back at the alley before shaking her head, "No sir. You're the only person I've seen since I got up this morning. It's very quiet out, have you noticed?" she smiled, and batted her eyes _ever_ so slightly. "Might I ask _why_ you're after this girl?"

Scott looked away and cleared his throat. "She stole the wine we use for communion. She ran into the church like some deranged heathen, plucked it right out of my hands, and then just took off. I could hardly believe my eyes."

"Well, perhaps you're imagining things Reverend. Who on earth would want to steal wine from a minister?" Abby laughed.

Scott sighed and nodded, "I suppose. Still, if you do see her, please let me know Goody…"

"_Miss _Williams, dear Reverend. Abigail Williams. Well, I hope you find your thief. Good day."

"Good day _Miss_ Williams." And then he tipped his hat to her and left. Abby breathed a sigh of relief and turned back to the alley way. The dark-haired girl slowly crept out from the shadows, giggling like a little three-year-old. Abby shook her head, "You have the brains of an earthworm, don't you? Do you have any idea what kind of trouble you can get into for that sort of thing? Couldn't you simply, oh I don't know, _buy_ your own spirits?"

The girl nodded, still giggling, "Well of course I can. My mother's a widow, you see, and her husband left me quite a sum in his will, but then if I bought a bottle on my own I never would have been able to see the look on the Reverend's face when I snatched it from his hands. His eyes grew as wide as the moon!"

Abby sighed. '_You'd think she'd drunk half the bottle in that state that she's in. Still, I love her audacity. My uncle would have doubled over out of shock if that had happened to him. I wonder if I should just leave her here_.' She pursed her lips, "You wouldn't happen to be new in town, would you?"

"_Well_, yes and no. I grew up in a little village not too far from here, but then my mother and I moved to England when I was about seven-years-old. I've just come off a ship about an hour ago." The girl replied, twirling about the road, arms stretched to the heavens.

"An hour? And you decided to run into a church and steal a bottle of wine?"

"I thought that I'd make my first day in Boston memorable. So are you a harlot?"

Abby's throat closed up. Who on earth _was_ this girl? "Where—what—who in heaven's name are you asking a thing like that? What would make you think that for a minute that _I_ am some kind of…of…"

"Harlot. I don't know. I was watching you while you were talking to the Reverend and the thought just popped into my head. And you didn't actually answer the question." The young lady pointed out as she came to a halt.

Abby scowled. Her patience was beginning to wear thing _very_ quickly with this little runt. "I won't even dignify that with an answer. Now why don't you just take your wine and scamper off?"

"Well, I'm cold. And I need a place to stay. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that would you? I can't imagine a harlot wouldn't know a decent place to stay now and then."

"I never said I was a harlot!"

"Well, you never said you weren't."

Abby growled, "I am not and never have been a whore."

The other girl nodded her head back and forth, as if weighing some decision, but shrugged her shoulders, "I suppose that'll do. So, Abigail—Miss Williams, if you're not a harlot, what do you do?"

"How do you know my name?"

"Well, I was only a few feet away. I might have been blinded for a moment, but I wasn't deaf. I heard you telling the Reverend."

"Well then how did you _see_ me and the Reverend talking?"

… "Do you always make it a habit of avoiding questions by asking them?" Abby rolled her eyes, turned around and walked in the other direction. The girl easily caught up to her. "You still haven't answered my question." She said.

"What does it matter to you what I do?" Abby asked.

"I don't know. I'm bored, I need something to do, and you're somewhat entertaining. My name's Pearl by the way, Pearl Prynne. Can I call you Abby?"

"I'm delighted to know that I amuse you, Pearl," Abby grunted, "but I'd rather you call me Miss Williams if you must."

"Well then I'd rather you call _me _Miss Prynne although I don't know why there's a need for formalities." Pearl laughed.

Abby didn't know what to think of this girl. Sure, she wasn't a saint herself, but Pearl was…odd. She'd never met anyone who was so openly wild. Or if she had, they were locked up immediately. In Salem they would have been thought to be bewitched. Still, here was this dark-haired girl dancing about the streets in a crimson dress, smiling and laughing as if there wasn't a thing wrong in the world. She couldn't have stood out more if she tried. And Abby was walking alongside her. _Why_ was she walking alongside this ridiculous girl?

"Are you _sure_ there isn't anything else you could be doing right now," Abby asked, "For instance, where is that mother of yours that you mentioned?"

"Oh, she's probably sulking in her corner at home. Well, sulking is too dramatic of a word. My mother likes to suffer in silence. You see the house just got to be so _dark_ after a while; I just _had _to get away. I needed a holiday and what better place to relax and have a little fun? I'm already off to a good start."

"I can only imagine what you'll get up to if this is only the beginning. Perhaps you'll say hello to the minister for me when you end up in jail."

Pearl giggled, "I like the minister. If I was a harlot that's just the sort of man I'd go after."

"Somehow I doubt the minister would be easily tempted."

"Oh, I don't know. My father was a minister."

Abby frowned, "If your father was a minister, how did he manage to leave you a fortune in his will?"

"Well, I never said how much was left to me. And I never said that my mother's husband was my father."

Abby quirked a brow, but she said nothing in response. '_That explains so much and yet so little. It's odd. She was born of adultery and I led a man to commit it_.' She stopped as they turned the corner. "How old are you?" she asked.

"Uh uh. It's not your turn yet—you _still_ haven't answered my earlier question. What do you do for a living?"

Suddenly, Abby was beginning to remember why she didn't like this girl. She sighed, "I work for a seamstress. She's a hag, but she pays me. I don't suppose you do anything but twirl about wherever you go?"

Pearl's eyes lit up, "My mother was a seamstress. She made me this dress. She's excellent with a needle and thread. I tried to pick up the skill, but I haven't the knack for it. I'm but nineteen, not quite a girl, not yet a woman, or at least not according to my mother. And there's no harm in enjoying life. I've been here but a day and all I get are strange looks, no matter where I am."

"Well, it might have to do with the fact that you're about as subtle as daisy among violets." Abby remarked, pulling her cloak closer to her body. _Lord_ was it cold.

Pearl just shook her head and laughed. "I prefer to think of it as a 'pearl' among bricks."

"Those two don't have anything to do with one another."

"_Exactly_," Pearl nodded and _winked_ at Abby before pulling the bottle of wine from her own velvet cloak, "Do you want to share this with me by any chance?" Before Abby could answer, she heard a loud shout from behind them. The minister had followed the pair with several other parishioners.

"Why on earth is a single bottle of wine so valuable?"

Pearl chuckled nervously, "I _might_ have nicked more than one thing from the minister…and a few of the church members. Particularly their pockets."

Abby groaned and she looked back and forth between Pearl and the parishioners headed their way. She sighed, "Come on, runt. Let's get out of here." Abby ducked into the next street with Pearl at her side. The two ran past carts of food and livestock. Abby kept praying, perhaps a pointless exercise, that the skirts of their dresses wouldn't catch on something. Weaving in and out of the way of horses and horse-drawn carriages, it was hard to believe that they hadn't knocked into something.

"Abby," Pearl gasped as they passed yet another alley, "I think I have an idea." She grabbed the other girl's wrist and yanked her towards an empty carriage resting across the street. The horses were still there, tied up and waiting for the driver to return. Abby shook her head.

"You're _mad_." She whispered.

"You knew that when you met me, now come on!" Pearl shot across the street as fast as she could with Abby in tow, leapt up into the driver's seat and grabbed the reigns.

"Do you even know _how_ to steer a pair of horses?" Abby cried, looking back at the men closing in on them.

Pearl shook her head, "No, but I believe there's a first time for everything!" She cracked the reigns and they were off. Naturally, the horses were startled, just as they were. This had to be the single most ludicrous morning of her entire life. Abby clung to the carriage box with a grip firm as stone. If they made one wrong turn, she was _not _going to be flying off anytime soon. For a brief moment, Abby looked back and sure enough the parishioners had _also _grabbed a carriage and were in pursuit of the young women. '_This is something out of a novel. How did my life become a work of fiction?_'

"Um, Abby, you might want to hang on."

"I _am_ hanging on. I couldn't hang on more if I tried. Wait, what are you gonna do?" she asked. Pearl made a sharp turn, or at least she hoped she did, and the carriage swung far to the left and into the back of, you guessed it, another alley. The two ladies jumped off the seat and hid behind the next building. The parishioners stopped and got out of their own carriage and after a few minutes of fruitless searching, they left. '_Well there goes any chance I had with the minister_.' Abby thought with a heavy sigh.

"So, uh, Abby," Pearl laughed, gasping for breath, "technically we stole that carriage and its contents. I don't think we're going to be welcome around here for a little while. Is there any chance you want to come with me to another city? Maybe Salem—"

"No! Um…I don't really think that Salem is the best place to go to escape conviction, if you know what I mean. How about Acton?" Abby suggested.

Pearl nodded, "Acton sounds nice. By the way, I think any money I had might have fallen out while I was driving the carriage. You wouldn't be able to spare a few pounds would you?"

Abby rolled her eyes. Well, at least she had something to do now, even if it _did_ mean having to 'work' overtime and double-shifts. One way or another it was going to work out. And if she couldn't do it on her own, they could always try to put a price on their 'Pearl'.

And they lived happily ever after, until one day the pair ran across another young girl by the name of Rebecca Proctor, but that's another story.

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><p>Well, that's about it! Read, review, ravage it if you will. I was simply having a bit of fun.<p> 


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